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Adrik
waited in the guard’s room a couple of corridors along from Kornfeld’s
cell. There was only one way out, so the Jew had to pass this room. He
spun a Makarov on his finger, aimed at imaginary targets and thrilled at
the thought of using it. The gun was standard issue, but he would’ve
chosen it anyway. Totally reliable, pull the trigger and out pop the
bullets. The blowback design expels the spent case to the right and
loads the next cartridge into the chamber – easy. And fully armed with
eight rounds, he would use them all.
This
wouldn’t be his first killing and sure as hell wouldn’t be his last.
Kornfeld was a pain, and it was Otto who mattered. He would do anything
for him. Why should he care about some Jew who got in the way?
But
time dragged, and Kornfeld hadn’t yet made a show. For one horrible
minute he thought there might be another way out – but no, that isn’t
even possible. Calm down, be patient… Try as he might, he couldn’t, and
the idea ran around his head, irritating him beyond measure.
He
left the guardroom and paced the corridor outside. At first a short
distance and then a bit further into the next passageway. No good – he
had to find out what had happened. With gun in hand and footsteps
stealthy he reached the cell door – it was slightly open. Oh shit, did
that mean there was another way out? Or maybe Kornfeld had gone deeper
into the prison block. Or maybe he was in the cell hoping the element of
surprise would be with him.
Possibilities
ganged up. Kornfeld knew Lubyanka well. What if there was another way
out and that little bastard knew it? If so, Otto would kill him, never
mind the Jew. He kicked the door fully open, slammed it against the cell
wall, stood back and then moved in, pointing the gun around to make
sure Kornfeld wasn’t hidden on either side of the opening. The cell was
dimly lit and he found it difficult to see. He would stay put until his
eyes got accustomed to the light. A body, he saw a body. It was covered
with a greatcoat, on the bunk facing the wall.
He
was clearly supposed to think it was Kornfeld. In that case he’d be
under the bunk waiting… But then that’s obvious too, so he might be on
top with the guard pushed underneath. That made more sense – it would be
easier for him to make an attack from on top – but, shit, wouldn’t that
be what he wanted him to think?
To
be sure of the kill, Adrik wanted to shoot above and below – but he
couldn’t. How would he explain the soldier’s death? Oh, Otto, if only
Otto was there to tell him what to do. But he wasn’t, he had to make up
his own mind. The Jew was on top – yes, definitely on top.
Cautiously,
he edged forward, pointed the pistol to the back of the person’s head
and pulled the body towards him with gun steady and ready to fire. As
quickly as his huge form allowed, he pulled the greatcoat away.
Fuck!
The guard! No time to react. A leg came from under the bunk with
incredible speed and wrapped around the back of his. At the same time,
the Jew’s other foot came against his knees and pushed. Adrik had
brought his legs together when he tore the coat away and Kornfeld used
the imbalance to his advantage. Adrik’s arms went out. He hovered
awkwardly, then almost regained control, but Kornfeld pushed harder and
Adrik went flying backwards with his legs in the air. A sense of
suspension ended and he fell heavily, striking the hard stone floor. His
head bounced, shudders chased through his brain and he found himself
staring at the ceiling, wavering between conscious and unconscious.
The
pain pierced his skull and he noticed his head had rested in a pool of
warm liquid. He hadn’t seen that when he came in. Numbness consumed his
body; he couldn’t move. But then his blurred vision saw the bleary
outline of the Jew. Awareness came that his body was being rolled over.
He was paralyzed, but it didn’t stop the surge of fear that ran through
every fibre of his being.
Set
against the backdrop of Soviet, post-war Russia, Birth of an Assassin
follows the transformation of Jez Kornfeld from wide-eyed recruit to
avenging outlaw. Amidst a murky underworld of flesh-trafficking,
prostitution and institutionalized corruption, the elite Jewish soldier
is thrown into a world where nothing is what it seems, nobody can be
trusted, and everything can be violently torn from him.
Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense
Rating – R
Chapter 42 Jez let his mind dwell on the ceiling’s dull paint rather than think about his recent nightmares. But those thoughts wouldn’t stay down: whatever happened, he would achieve justice for Viktor. Anna came out of the bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel, turban style. “We still have time to travel south,” she said. He sighed. She looked desperate again. “Please think about it. I promise this isn’t a test. No tricks. I’m telling you what’s in my heart, and I think we should run.” Vertical tracks forged between his eyebrows. “We’ve already been through this, Anna. I do trust you, but I’ve made my decision.” “But I don’t think you’ve thought it out properly. From what I can see, Mitrokhin has high-ranking contacts everywhere and I don’t think even Petrichova can save you. The captain has the guile of a fox and his cunning outwits us all. Please, Jez,” she implored, “go with me now.” He got off the bed and embraced her. “I don’t know why you’ve become so worried. I’d never imagined you like this, but whether what you say is true or not, I won’t run. I must win justice for Viktor – and for me, come to that. Viktor has been murdered and I’ve been set up to look like his killer.” Anna wept against his chest, and he couldn’t figure why. Of what he knew about her, it was totally out of character. “I want you to remember this,” she sobbed. “And I’m speaking from the heart. No matter what happens, this is what is real and this is the memory I want you to hold onto. I love you, Jez, I love you.” Baffled, he realized that having a real relationship with a woman was an enigma. Her declaration seemed distressed rather than tender. The only way he could think of handling this was to let it go straight over his head. “And I love you, Anna, but I must go back.” * Outside the hotel the snow lay thick, and despite the best efforts of a heavy blanket of cloud, the cold had worked its way through. “I’m glad I packed the ski jacket. Cold or not, this suitcase has me overheating. I know you’ve put my stuff in with yours, but what a weight.” “Just girl things,” she smiled, and stepped out ahead. “That’s right, don’t wait for me. Oh…” he said, almost stopping, “I forgot to pay for my lodgings at the hotel.” She turned and raised an eyebrow. He grinned. “You’re right, all the troubles I’ve got and I should worry about paying for a room. I’ll let the state sort it out.” She laughed. They trudged through the snow until they came to Railway Station Square – part of Stalin’s rebuild of the city. Anna wore the same azure coat with fur trimmings and fur hat as on the second day of their reunion, and he wondered how such a beautiful woman could really be interested in him. “You look like a film star dressed like that, but aren’t you worried someone might be following?” She tutted. “You seem to be worrying enough for both of us.” She was so avant-garde, maybe she hadn’t carried out as many missions as she’d suggested. “Oh well, nearly there,” he said. She smiled sadly. He stopped to cross an avenue near a trolley rank. Six or seven people queued closely together, ankle-deep in snow, exhaling frosted breath as they waited for their ride. At last, a lull in the traffic. Anna went ahead. Jez kept a half metre behind, but something jarred his senses. Above the din of the city an explosion rang out. He turned to the direction of the noise and then looked at Anna. A hole had opened and blossomed in the back of her coat. His heart seemed to stop beating. She’d been shot and he couldn’t move. The force of the bullet had arched her back. She spun to face him, stumbled, eyes widened in shock. The crowd at the trolley rank scattered in panic and shrill screams pierced his ears. But still, he couldn’t move – Anna. 
Buy Now @ Amazon, B&N, Kobo & Waterstones Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense Rating – R More details about the author and the book Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com
Can you tell me about yourself: where you’re from, where you grew up, and what you have done with your life?
I grew up in the slum-lands of 50’s North East England and left school at 15 years of age without any form of qualification. From school I went to work in the local shipyards on the River Tyne. At 19, I went into the merchant navy, drifted, or bobbed, through life until it became pointless, gave it up in favor of working in a quarry in Essex. When I married, I realized my life was plodding along without horizons; it looked bleak. I started studying. After completing O and A levels, I began a degree course and obtained a Bachelor of Science degree in mathematics and computing. The qualification got me a job in the Ford Motor Co. IT dept where I became a project business analyst. I took an early retirement at 50 and that was when I began writing seriously.
How did the idea of the book come to you?
I have relations who lived in ‘The Pale’ (a barren place where the Jewish population was forced to live – think Fiddler on the Roof). They escaped the czarist pogroms in the late 19th century. Some came to England, others to the US and Canada.
Because of them, I looked into Jewish history in Russia and was shocked to learn of the suffering there. But it gave me an idea for a story. However, 19th century Russia didn’t fit. I trawled through Russian/Soviet history until I came to the post-war period. The setting was perfect for me, but I had to take away the protagonist’s Jewish religion. First, to fit in with his military ambitions and also to demonstrate that it isn’t only about religious belief – prejudice is prejudice.
What made you want to become an author?
Being an avid reader, I’ve always had an aggravating yearning to write something serious, I wanted to replicate, or do better, than what I was reading. Of course, when you start, you don’t do it right, but I’m the type of person that can’t leave a thing alone until I feel I have a handle on it. I’m not sure if I intended to write a full length novel, but the learning process became all consuming and here I am.
Is this the only book you’ve written? Do you have others planned?
Birth of an Assassin is a debut novel and is the first in a series. The second episode is complete, but needs a final sweep to smooth it. I’ve also written the third in the cycle, but that needs at least one more draft. The time period of the second book runs in parallel with Birth of an Assassin; this time the setting is in Turkey. As for the third novel, it pulls the previous two together to create a single unit.
What made you want to write about human trafficking, prostitution and organized corruption in Russia?
It was because of one of the episodes I’d learned about early in my research. A child was reported kidnapped, and later found murdered. The czarist state pointed the finger at the Jewish population. Why? To avert a growing hatred from ordinary workers against the fat cats who exploited them. And the state succeeded; pogroms began, culminating in1903at a place called Kishinev. Later, it came to light that the child’s family had been guilty of the murder, but by then the state had achieved its objective: diffusing the worker’s anger. I moved this story to a place in history that fit, the post-war period, but I needed an analogy for the child’s death. That my protagonist was framed for human trafficking and murder because of corruption within the state seemed the perfect conduit.
You enjoyed writing the book, but were there times you found it difficult or harrowing
Yes, of course. My research travelled from 1900 to 1960 and took in too much of the inhumanity practiced between human beings during that time. To feel it as you read it is distressing, whatever color, creed or religion of the people involved.
How important do you think education was for your writing and is it ever too late to learn
I studied the sciences, but it expanded my mind enough that I could embrace other disciplines, so I can’t emphasize how important education is. I think I’m a good example of how it’s never too late to learn, as I was in my early thirties before beginning my degree. I got a reasonable career out of it and now spend more hours writing than I ever did working in harness – and I love it. What more can I say?
Is there any special reason you chose a Jewish protagonist
In the main because of the respect I have for my wife’s family.
Can you give any advice to aspiring writers?
Each time you fall, and you will, pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again. In other words keep on keeping on.
What books did you enjoy growing up with?
Huckleberry Finn, don’t ask why, but in my mind’s eye I always saw myself in his shoes and my best friend as Tom Sawyer; he was Tom because his family had more money than mine.
Who is your favorite author?
Too many to say, but I do get particularly absorbed reading John Connolly.
What book should everybody read at least once?
Reading is subjective, so one book can’t appeal to all. All I can say is that if a book lives on in your mind, there will come a time that it will be worth reading again.
Set against the backdrop of Soviet, post-war Russia, Birth of an Assassin follows the transformation of Jez Kornfeld from wide-eyed recruit to avenging outlaw. Amidst a murky underworld of flesh-trafficking, prostitution and institutionalized corruption, the elite Jewish soldier is thrown into a world where nothing is what it seems, nobody can be trusted, and everything can be violently torn from him.
Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense
Rating – R
* Jez listened to his heart pound as he made his way to the militarized airplane. The propellers of the Lisunov Li-2T whumped as they waited patiently for heavier work, but patience wasn’t a condition he suffered from. The blood had raced through his veins non-stop since he’d been reassigned. Only a handful of passengers crossed the airstrip; and boarding the right-hand side of the aircraft revealed why: cargo took up ten of the twenty seats. Probably it was munitions for the KKE, or Soviet personnel. He found an empty window seat behind the wing, stowed his kitbag and sat. A regular army captain flustered along the aisle and bundled awkwardly into the seat next to him. He was a short, thickset man with a kindly, but weathered face. “Ah, the uniform, you’re with Spetsnaz.” “Yes, sir.” “You’re very young. Are you new to the group?” “Yes, I am, sir.” Conversation over, the captain nodded, settled his briefcase onto his lap and busied himself with its contents. He hummed so tunelessly that Jez reckoned the composer would have trouble recognizing it. Not long after the last passenger had boarded, the beat of the aircraft’s engines increased and the vehicle started to move slowly, turned a quarter circle, stopped and then turned a bit more before beginning its journey up the runway. Jez tingled as he felt the bulk of the machine try to get airborne. Several times it lifted from the blacktop only to bounce back to earth and waft small clouds of blue smoke from the tires. Jez kept vigil out of the window until the plane had enough power to keep the wheels in the air. He knew that this, his first flight, would be the most exciting of all flights. The drone of the engines increased. The plane rose up to the clouds, reached its desired height and changed the angle of elevation towards horizontal. They hit turbulence and the passengers bounced fiercely in their seats. “Is this the start of a long tour of duty, Private?” the captain asked. “The truth is, sir, I don’t know.” Even if he had, he wouldn’t have been willing to discuss his remit. The captain seemed to sense what Jez thought of the question, smiled graciously and returned his attention to the briefcase. The aircraft rode through every available air pocket and Jez enjoyed each twist and turn, until at last they arrived at the KKE landing strip. In 1948, with two-thirds of the country in communist hands, coming down in a safe region wasn’t difficult. This strip was north of the Balkan Peninsula in a southern area of Macedonia. Historically, the Greek right-wing conservatives had used tyranny to subjugate the Macedonians, which made for an easy alliance with the KKE. Jez was last off the plane, because the captain took forever to repack his case. When he did leave his seat, another officer rushed by and Jez was held up further. By the time he reached the bottom of the gangway, his travel companion had met his contact and most of the other passengers had left the strip. Workers were unloading the cargo from a rear hatch, and beyond that a young KKE soldier stood by a UAZ-469 Soviet jeep. The soldier looked too young to be there. His long unkempt hair hung straight, stuck untidily out from under a weather-beaten beret. His features typically Greek, his dusty olive uniform was an exact match for the color of his skin; and his large brown eyes, should he live long enough, would draw the girls like flies to sugar. He held out a hand to halt Jez. “You Kornfeld?” he asked. “Yes, I’m Private Kornfeld.” The boy remained solemn-faced and nodded towards the jeep. “Good luck, Private,” the captain bid, as he and his associate passed. “I hope the ride you have here is not as bumpy as the one we’ve just shared.” “Thank you, sir.” Jez forced a friendly grin, but found the lackluster in the KKE boy’s gaze had unnerved him. A face without expression and eyes without life. Jez wondered what lay ahead. The young soldier crunched into gear and pulled away at breakneck speed, while Jez jerked backwards as they flew from the dirt runway. The jeep formed a sand cloud that trailed their movements. After fifteen minutes of dusty roads they reached mountainous ground, and Jez hung on as the jeep danced over the rough terrain. Rocks jutted dangerously from the track or the road hung precariously over precipices, and he bit his lower lip at the boy’s avant-garde attitude to driving. “You must have seen a lot of action here?” he said, and hoped he hadn’t interfered with the boy’s concentration. He looked only around fourteen, but his character seemed a lifetime older. His eyes left the road to give Jez a cursory glance. In the meantime, the jeep took the twists and curves as if on automatic pilot. “No Russian speak,” he replied, and without a line of expression he returned focus to the job. Jez wished Anna had been by his side. He was sure she’d have something to say about the boy’s erratic driving and stone-faced comments. Whatever, he concluded a great friendship wasn’t about to be forged with his Greek driver, and he turned his attention to the elevations around them. The journey took them south, nearer enemy territory, and finally to an open stockade in a dustbowl nestled at the foot of a line of low-rise mountains. The jeep raced to the center of the compound, the wheels locked up and they skidded to an emergency stop. The dust cloud didn’t follow suit and Jez learned what it was to be enveloped by a sandstorm. The powdered dirt settled, and without a word the young Greek soldier shut off the engine, nodded and left. Jez threw his kitbag over his shoulder and turned full circle in the hope there might be someone more companionable. Soviet soldiers had gathered in a group near a cluster of tents and a sergeant held center stage. “Excuse me, if you’re Sergeant Viktor Sharansky,” Jez said, breaking the loop, “I believe you’re expecting me. I’m Private Kornfeld.” The sergeant looked him over derisively. “What’s this? Now they send me little boys to take care of in the middle of a war. Maybe I should stick a broom up my ass and sweep up as I go, because I’m not doing enough already. What say you – err – Private Kooornfeld?” He stretched the name sarcastically, and the others laughed. Around forty years old, Sharansky was medium to tall with square shoulders that tapered to slim hips. Muscles fought to burst the confines of his short-sleeved combat shirt, and he looked every centimeter the definition of a boyhood hero. A cubed head with rough features on the front of it, creases that denoted laughter and eyes displaying a cheeky twinkle – Jez wasn’t put off by his words. “You’ll find I’m able to look after myself, Sergeant. I’ll give you no cause for concern.” The sergeant laughed. “Don’t let that distress you, little one, I have no intention of offering any such thing. What happens to you is down to you. What’s your first name? I’m not giving you Private Kooornfeld every time I’m ordering you around.” “My name is Jez, Sergeant.” “Right, Jez Sergeant, I’m busy. Find somewhere for your kit and we’ll see what we can do with you later.” 
Set against the backdrop of Soviet, post-war Russia, Birth of an Assassin follows the transformation of Jez Kornfeld from wide-eyed recruit to avenging outlaw. Amidst a murky underworld of flesh-trafficking, prostitution and institutionalized corruption, the elite Jewish soldier is thrown into a world where nothing is what it seems, nobody can be trusted, and everything can be violently torn from him. Buy Now @ Amazon, B&N, Kobo & Waterstones Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense Rating – R More details about the author Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com
* Dressed in white shorts and vests, the cadets gathered in a gymnasium void of equipment. Stripped to the waist, Nikolas held a dagger, trying to affect a muscular pose, but with too much belly and slack muscles. Well, put a pig in a pair of shorts, and it’s still a pig. Hold on to that picture, Jez thought and grinned. One after another, the cadets attempted to evade an armed strike from the enemy, but not one returned to the outer circle without clutching at a gash. Jez watched nervously. He knew he was fitter than the NCO, and bringing him down for what he’d tried to do to Anna was a fantastic thought; but if he kicked against the system... Whether he’d fully understood what the colonel had said back in his office he wasn’t sure, but he was sure his mentor wouldn’t tolerate aggression towards a senior soldier. And besides, it was clear the NCO was expert at what he was doing. Out of shape or not, he’d beat Jez easily. A yell from Popov and she left the circle suppressing a sob, clinging to a wound high on her right breast. That was it then, only him and Anna to go. “Centre circle, Kornfeld,” Nikolas commanded. He sighed and moved forward. The corporal, to Jez’s surprise, sheathed his knife and announced, “Athletics, shooting, seems you’re a bit better than good. But you’re a skinny little runt and somehow…” A sickening thud sank into Jez’s chest and pitched him to the ground. “…I don’t think this will be your specialty.” He tried to get up, but Nikolas kicked him in the side and rolled him onto his back. Jez had moved with the blow, but it still left him staring at the ceiling, winded. He needed a breather, but Nikolas came at him again. Jez fought nausea and darted to one side. “Oh, girlie tactics. I didn’t expect that from a big shot like you. I might have expected it more from Puchinsky. Ah, Puchinsky, yes, you’re up next,” he said, and turned to Anna, grinning, breathing heavily. “And we still have a little debt left unpaid.” As he considered the words, Jez got to his feet, but his attention had shifted. Nikolas pulled his knife and slashed it sideways. The tip of the blade scratched a red line across Jez’s now slit white vest. The corporal holstered the weapon and flexed his physique, readying for hand-to-hand. “Come on, Kornfeld, one on one. Do your worst.” He laughed. “You have my full permission to set all your might against me.” Nikolas suddenly lunged, and the heel of an open-palmed strike knocked Jez heavily to the floor. Somehow he had to keep out of the way, but getting to his feet he was surprised to see the trainer had paled. He’d overdone it with the other cadets and his lack of fitness was there for all to see. A chance presented itself as he took a more casual swipe. Jez followed with gut reaction. The punch flew and he reacted with a nimbleness that left his opponent in slow motion. He grabbed the corporal’s wrist with both hands, made a half turn, held the grip, brought the larger man’s arm onto his shoulder and whipped it down as hard as he could. The limb snapped to the sound of bone breaking and gristle tearing. Then came a shriek, as Nikolas screamed out in agony. Jez stepped back, but a surge of arousal had warmed the pit of his stomach and the stimulus urged him to finish the job. Why not? His career was over after this. He fixed his eyes on Nikolas and moved forward. “Jez, no,” Anna shouted. He stopped just as a hulking silhouette emerged from the shadow of a doorway to assist the crippled trainer. Jez returned to the group and joyous murmurs flowed through the circle. Suddenly, he’d become the most popular cadet in the hall. The man helped the trainer out of the hall and the cadets separated into smaller groups, hanging around, awaiting further instruction. Jez and Anna sat together with their backs against the wall, he staring at the door expecting guards to come and get him any minute. “I think the others are worried they might all be in trouble,” Anna said. “Maybe they are, but it’s me who’ll come under fire,” Jez said, voice miserable, emotions much the same. Anna cleared her throat. “Thanks,” she said, with a softness he hadn’t heard from her before. “For what?” he asked. “I know you lost it because Nikolas tried it on with me, and I know how important the army is to you… I’m sorry it had to happen. I’ll always be grateful.” The words were sweet, but the voice was stern. He was embarrassed, just as when his older brother and sister had ribbed him about looking like a pretty girl. He had no reason to say it, other than being stuck for words, but he responded, “You’d have done the same.” She came back at him in a flurry of decisiveness. “No, Jez, no, I wouldn’t. I’m like you in as much as the army is everything to me. But believe me, I wouldn’t have done anything so… irrational. Not for any reason. I would protect my career at all cost.” He smiled. “Or maybe it’s just that you don’t like me as much as I like you.” Her shoulders dropped, her face relaxed and her eyes sparkled. “No, it isn’t that. I like you well enough.” His cheeks were still burning when a cadet from one of the other huts came into the hall. “I’m at the end of my training and have been told to command this unit for the rest of today. I don’t know how far you’ve all got with your preparation, so we’ll just go out for a run… I want to see you in front of the hut in full kit in five minutes.” *
Set against the backdrop of Soviet, post-war Russia, Birth of an Assassin follows the transformation of Jez Kornfeld from wide-eyed recruit to avenging outlaw. Amidst a murky underworld of flesh-trafficking, prostitution and institutionalized corruption, the elite Jewish soldier is thrown into a world where nothing is what it seems, nobody can be trusted, and everything can be violently torn from him. Buy Now @ Amazon, B&N, Kobo & Waterstones Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense Rating – R More details about the author Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com
* At the square he crossed the plaza, and there it was beyond the statue: the yellow brick building. Excitement hammered through his veins and he strode purposefully. He got to within a couple of steps of the entrance when an official in a heavy greatcoat and Ushanka fur hat halted him. Jez’s footfall flattened. The man towered over him like a giant. “Stop, where do you think you’re going, boy? Let me see your papers… quickly. You do have papers?” Nervously, Jez unbuttoned his side bag, fumbled with its contents. “Yes, sir… I do have papers…” He noticed epaulettes on the official’s greatcoat. They had pips – an officer. Hurry, a chance to impress. The papers, he patted down pockets and cleared his throat. “… And I’ve come to enlist in the military of the people, sir, the Red Army.” “Enlist? Young men usually wait for conscription – and you look too young. What are you running from?” Too young, he hadn’t thought of that. “I’m not running, sir. The army is my destiny.” An almost imperceptible shake of the head and the official held out his hand. “Papers,” he insisted. Positive he’d put the cards in his side bag, Jez pulled them from his jacket and proudly handed them over. “Jezer Kornfeld, you’re a Jew. Why are you volunteering for the Soviet Army?” Jez couldn’t understand the attitude. Hadn’t the man listened to what he’d just said? And there must’ve been Jews in the army before, at least in the Great Patriotic War. “Could it be your family has put you out as a result of the famines?” “Famines?” “The famines caused by our Scorched Earth policy when we were in retreat from the Nazis. Are they so insignificant that you can’t bring them to mind?” “Oh, the famines, no, sir, of course I know of the famines. I was confused because you thought my family might turn me away. They would never do such a thing. Not for any reason.” “Then is it because we’re no longer at war you believe you could be in for a soft ride?” he goaded. Rebellion prickled Jez’s skin. “No, sir, I follow no religion and all I want is to learn and serve. As far as wars are concerned, there’s always one waiting to happen.” He shrank at saying the words “no religion”. True, but it would break poor Poppa’s heart to hear him say it, and to a gentile. “Well, that’s quite an answer for a little fellow, and it must be said you are a little fellow. I’m not sure it would be wise for you to pursue this line of work. You look a bit… fragile.” “Not so, sir. I train every day. I’m probably as fit as anyone in this building.” “Oh, is that so?” replied the official, his granite face softening as he raised his eyebrows. “And have you completed any education?” “Yes, sir, I’ve studied as much as was available and did well in each subject.” “Hmm,” his interrogator nodded. “You’ve come directly to Lubyanka. Was there a reason for that?” Strange question, thought Jez. “Yes, sir,” he said, “it’s an army recruitment center.” The other’s face opened into a smile. “Oh, I see. Very well, and what is it you expect to achieve as a soldier?” “I want to know all there is about the army, sir.” The thought grew in Jez’s mind and excited him. “And I want to be an officer – like you.” A snigger huffed through the larger man’s nose. “Right, Comrade Kornfeld, come with me. We’ll see what you’re made of.” Jez marched a half step behind, through large wooden front doors, into a maze of identical corridors. On one of the higher floors, the officer went into an office and Jez waited at the entrance for further instruction. He peeked inside and saw a highly polished dark oak desk with a large red and gold leather inset, elaborate bookcases snugly hidden against dark paneled walls, and a square rug that virtually covered the whole of the floor. The grandeur of the room redeemed the image of military pomp previously tarnished by the soldiers at the gate. But again, he felt overshadowed. “Come in, boy.” Nervous, he strutted so as not to show it, but he was thrown out of kilter by the deep pile that tried to swallow his feet. He hurried to the chair and sat. The officer frowned and Jez realized he should’ve waited to be told what to do – too late now. The man looked about Poppa’s age, mid thirties, but the likeness ended there. Never had Jez seen anyone so big, as tall as a house and such massive shoulders. His natural expression appeared stern, but then he relaxed and looked caring, even kindly. Maybe younger than Poppa, he thought. After he’d hung his greatcoat on a rack in the corner, he sat down opposite Jez. But then his eyes rolled upward: he’d forgotten to take off the Ushanka hat. He shook his head and slung the hat towards the coat rack. Briefly forgetting his nervousness, Jez struggled to keep a straight face. “I’ve kept an eye on new recruits and… I don’t know. There’s something about you. I’ve nurtured an idea for some time and maybe you’re a person I could discuss it with.” What could an official want to discuss with him? “Before I begin, I should tell you this is not an army recruitment center. It is in fact KGB headquarters; and the statue in the center of the square is Felix Dzerzhinski, founder of the first communist secret police – the Cheka. Surely you’ve heard of Dzerzhinski Square or Iron Felix?” “No, no, sir, I haven’t.” Right enough, he hadn’t known of the place, but he suddenly knew why the two soldiers had laughed so. A wry smile crossed his face. “You think that’s funny?” He stiffened. “No, sir, sorry, I was directed here by guards outside the Kremlin and…” The official raised a hand. “Enough, I understand. I am Colonel Michel Petrichova, an officer in a Federal Security Services command that goes under the name of Spetsnaz. You’ve heard of it?” “No, sir,” his face burned. He thought he’d known so much about the army, but he hadn’t known any of this. “Don’t worry. I see from your papers you’re from a rural area, so no reason why you should.” The colonel shuffled into a different position and drummed a tattoo on the desk. “The reason you’re here is because of my father. A prominent Bolshevik at the time of the People’s Revolution, his belief that the workers were capable of military greatness was unshakeable.” The colonel stared, eyes penetrating. Jez had no idea how to respond, so he pulled his shoulders back, sat up straighter and did nothing. If he held an intelligent expression, maybe he would look as if he understood what was going on. “His idea,” the colonel continued, “was that with enough time invested in a peasant, Mother Russia could have the greatest armed forces in the world. What is your opinion?” Was he amusing himself like the two soldiers at the gates? Whatever his reasons, Jez reckoned he should answer as well as he could. “I think he was proven right, sir. We have recently become a superpower. How could he have been wrong?” “Well answered, but I think he meant each military individual could be the best, and that certainly isn’t the case, is it?” The colonel sat back, folded his arms, waited for an answer. Jez stumbled in his mind. “…I’m sorry, sir, I can’t say. I don’t know any soldiers.” The colonel leant forward, planted his elbows on the desk, made a church with his fingers and bowed his head. Jez wondered if he was praying. If he was, the prayer quickly ended and he sat back abruptly. “The fact is, Kornfeld, your attitude has a certain appeal. And because you’re such a little mite, if I were to turn you into the complete fighting machine it would verify my father’s beliefs.” A surge of adrenalin made Jez become spirited and he jumped to an answer. “I would be honored to prove your father right, sir.” “Good, first things first, which means that we have to put you through basic training. Do you think you’re up to the task?” Jez had dreamt of this for as long as he could remember. “Yes, of course, sir, that is why I came here.” “Then that’s all there is to be said. Oh, just one thing: you are forbidden from telling anyone of this discussion. And I mean anyone. Do you understand?” “Yes, sir, I understand,” he said, but couldn’t imagine why anyone would care anyway. The colonel picked up the phone and within moments of him putting it back in the cradle, an officer entered the room. “Yes, sir,” he said, stamping to attention. “This young man wants to join the Soviet Army. Take him and see he is signed up without anyone questioning his age. I want you to arrange a dossier on the boy, and at the end of the preparation I want the paperwork – and the boy – back here.” Surprise crossed the officer’s face, but he acknowledged the demands without query and left the office. Jez trailed raggedly behind. Tiredness had reached the stage where it was fast becoming his master.
Buy Now @ Amazon, B&N, Kobo & Waterstones Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense Rating – R More details about the author Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com
Jez turned his head and saw jeeps stacked up one behind the other, coming at him. They were equipped for combat with mounted mortar cannon and sub-machine guns rigged on the integral bases behind the front seats. The heads of soldiers bobbed behind mortar blast protectors as the vehicles maneuvered over snowdrifts. He couldn’t tell how many vehicles, but seeing them fan out and fire, the number no longer seemed relevant. He ran. He wanted to drop the ski jacket to quicken his pace, but he’d lose his weapons. The only thing he could do was wind in his head and race flat out. WHUMP! A mortar shell exploded 50 meters forward and to the right of his position. Shrapnel whizzed by, and though he could hear it, he felt nothing. He hadn’t been hit. He crouched lower, but the rabbit-skin hat fell off. No time to pick it up. Stop for nothing. With the rifles set to automatic, they traced straight black lines in the snow on either side of him and then swept horizontally across his horizon – Kalashnikov AKMs. They didn’t quite have him in their sights, but they would get there soon enough. Not safe running in a straight line, he zigzagged, sacrificing distance for evasive tactics. Even so, it wouldn’t take them long to get a bead on him. He looked ahead for anything that might impede his progress, and saw a murder of crows take to the air on the opposite side of the nearest hill. If only he could join them, he thought. Instead, he ran a short distance to the left and then a longer distance to the right, on occasion reversing the strategy so as not to reveal a pattern. WHUMP! WHUMP! One after another, mortar shells exploded; and while Jez’s evasive actions proved successful, progress slowed. The jeeps occasionally stopped to drop-blast their mortar shells more accurately, but it didn’t stop them gaining ground. Clearly, while the snow slowed him, it had no such effect on the pursuit vehicles. They would catch him before he could get to the hills. He had to make a stand. WHUMP! A shell exploded 30 meters ahead. That would do, fight from the mortar’s footprint, die like a soldier. He ran towards it. The jeeps closed in. WHUMP! Another explosion – and it was in the same hollow he was headed for. He ran in the opposite direction to make them realign their weapons. The aim moved. Shells exploded away from the crater, so he veered back and got close enough to jump. Any other time of year the landing would have been soft, but now solid ground jarred his bones as he made contact with the fissure’s base. The earth moved and rumbled, feet banged against brittle crust that cracked and broke beneath him. A thin layer of earth had been all that remained after the two explosions and Jez crashed through the crater into another hole. He dropped the depth of the first hollow and through into the hole below. But he couldn’t see out to shoot. If his life hadn’t been about to end he might have laughed. Too low to make a stand, he would have to… but just a minute, what was that? He wasn’t in a hole, but a pothole, a chance, a slim chance, but a chance. He pulled the landfall aside, squeezed through and scrambled along the tunnel in a direction in line with the hills. The cave got bigger. He could stand up straight. He started running again, and half a minute carried him 100 meters in. WHUMP! Grit and soil blasted along the chasm behind him, stung his legs, back and buttocks as fragments struck. They’d realigned a fix on the crater too soon. It had to be Mitrokhin up there. The regular army weren’t that good. With adrenalin pumping, he gave that extra push, but the channel narrowed and lowered. Lack of headroom forced him to his hands and knees. Movement slowed. The ground shook. Tremors shuddered through his arms and legs, and then a blast was followed by a rumble. The channel collapsed and fallen earth charged towards him. Rapid breathing, his heart raced, but he had to steady his thoughts. He couldn’t lose control, but the ground rumbled, ever closer. Still on his hands and knees, he pushed his back hard against the roof. Earth fell around his feet and legs as the miniature cave fell in. But his body remained rigid, acting as a stanchion. His part of the crown hadn’t fallen, but ahead and behind, the rumble continued and the fragile earth crashed down. The structure of the hollow folded, and when it stopped he’d become entombed. Panic engulfed him. There was no way out.
Buy Now @ Amazon Genre – Thriller, Crime, Suspense Rating – R More details about the author Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com
Set against the backdrop of Soviet, post-war Russia, Birth of an Assassin follows the transformation of Jez Kornfeld from wide-eyed recruit to avenging outlaw. Amidst a murky underworld of flesh-trafficking, prostitution and institutionalized corruption, the elite Jewish soldier is thrown into a world where nothing is what it seems, nobody can be trusted, and everything can be violently torn from him. Buy Now @ Amazon Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense Rating – R More details about the author Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com
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